When Dawna’s Nanaw died, it was quite easy to write a snippet. After all, I had known Nanaw for only 16 years. I could easily remember many of the things that had transpired in that length of time, but how does one condense 35 years of knowing someone into a few paragraphs? It’s darned near impossible.
My earliest memories of Grandma Grote entail the rare visits that occurred during childhood. Grandma and Grandpa Grote lived in LaMoure, North Dakota. That was quite a distance to travel since we lived in South Texas, so we generally got to see Grandma and Grandpa once, maybe twice a year. And there was much excitement around those times.
I can remember one such time when Grandma and Grandpa were coming to visit. My cousin John and I couldn’t stay inside at all as we waited. We entertained ourselves in the yard playing football, tag, or whatever else little boys play. Ever so often, we would run into the street in front of my home in Odem and look to see if we saw Grandma and Grandpa’s car. When we finally saw that old beige sedan turn onto Pecos drive, the excitement bubbled over. Grandma and Grandpa were coming!!!
Grandma and Grandpa usually stayed a week or two, and I remember much of the evenings were spent playing Bridge. Of course, the adults played, we kids meandered around looking at everyone’s hand and not understanding a doggone thing about that card game. Honestly, to this day, I still can’t figure out the nuances of Bridge, but Grandma sure could. She was a card shark when it came to Bridge. When she and Grandpa played as a team, you had to really be on your game, and even if you were, odds are you still were going to lose. They were that good. Grandma even tried to patiently teach me some of the tricks to bidding and playing, but they were lost on this redneck. I think I’ll stick to Skat.
I wish I could remember more about Grandma’s visits to see us, but most of those memories are drowned out by all the other stuff of childhood. I do remember more clearly our visits to North Dakota. I can honestly say that those were really good times. My sister Laura and I would climb to the top of the stairs in their two story house and slide down on our butts. I’m not exactly sure how Grandma and Grandpa remained calm as two of their grandkids came inches away from the door at the bottom of the stairs time and time again, but they managed. Grandparents have a way of letting you get away with stuff that parents won’t!!!
And Grandma had bubble blower for us. Geez, I remember standing on the front porch and blowing bubbles. Of course, as kids, you spill bubble blower. Kids simply cannot keep a bottle upright for more than five minutes at a time–my own children are a testament to this phenomenon that God seems to have built into nature. My sister and I were no different. We spilled the bottle. Several times. But somehow, Grandma always seemed to come up with more. We saw no giant bottle of bubble blower (like you can buy now a days). And I didn’t see any other little bottles either. Somehow, she just made it magically appear much to the delight of her grandchildren!!! (I know the trick now, by the way.)
Grandma was part of the EMS in LaMoure, and when she got a call, she jumped on her three speed bike and headed out. She wore an orange hoodie or jacket (can’t remember which) so that she could be seen. I don’t know if it was because she enjoyed her job so much or because she just had terrible taste in clothing, but that orange color became a part of her wardrobe. She loved that color. Most folks I know wouldn’t be caught dead in it except on hunting expeditions. But for Grandma, it was everyday attire. Grandma had a bit of an eccentric streak.
And that manifested itself in how she cooked. Now, I tend to take after my dad’s family when it comes to cooking. You know, you stick to the basics. Meat, potatoes, noodles, vegetables and some fruit. Well, Grandma used that stuff, but she used it in ways that I don’t think God really intended them to be used. Sure, she tried to pawn it off as an exercise in understanding how other cultures fix food and how some folks have fine, exquisite dining, but I knew better. She was experimenting on us trying to see just how far she could push us country folk from down south!!! I can’t tell you how many times I had to choke down stuff I really didn’t care for, but on the positive side, there were at least a few victories. I still really like the Burmese dinner, and I have to hand it to Grandma. She introduced me to Raspberry Sherbert. I love it to this day.
Grandma also adjusted to life up north as I remember. I couldn’t believe it one day when I got a glass of iced tea. According to the laws of culture, iced tea in the north means one or two cubes. How in the world could anyone drink a glass of tea with only one or two cubes!!! I know my father and I had to have that discussion with Grandma more than once, and by the time it was said and done, we cleaned out the ice trays so we could drink tea proper.
In 1984, Grandma and Grandpa moved to Bella Vista Arkansas. They were a little closer to home, but we still didn’t get to visit but once or twice a year. But, of course, they were memorable times. I will forever remember the Christmas vacations out at the ranch. When Grandma’s mother died, she inherited 260 acres of thorny, brushy, cactus infested land 16 miles from Freer, Texas. Luckily, it has White-tailed deer on the premises or there might not be much use for the place (at least I first thought).
But Grandma loved the place. It was the place where her parents and grandparents had lived and worked. It was the place where she spent much of her childhood, and her stories about “The Ranch” fascinated me. It was something to hear her talk about the characters that were in that side of the family and how if it were not for an interesting twist of fate, I would probably be a Baptist preacher today instead of a Lutheran. Grandma would go through long walks through the pasture–much to the chagrin of us hunters who claimed she and other family members who did so ruined our hunting. But now, I’m positively glad she got the opportunity to do so. Very few of us get a chance to feel the dirt that our ancestors worked and tilled and shed blood, sweat, and tears on. I am sure that for Grandma, each step was a step connecting her to her past.
Grandma loved to walk and exercise. She had to become very cognizant of her diet and exercise as she aged and started having a few minor health problems. So it seemed like every time we’d get together, we’d go for a walk. I remember walking around the hills near their home in Bella Vista–down and around Chaucer and down the “bunny” street. Grandma would walk the tread off the soles of your feet. Man she was in shape. And if she wasn’t walking the air out of you, she would swim circles around you. Up until just a few years ago, she’d swim 3/4 of a mile two or three times a week. (Don’t think that’s too long. Try doing it yourself one of these days.) She really was a physical marvel.
Man, there is so much more that comes flooding back. Trips to Eureka Springs to the Passion Play. Trips to Branson to Silver Dollar City. Trips to Carthage, MO to see the Precious Moments Chapel. And discussions of faith and church. Perhaps this is a fitting finale to the memories of Grandma for indeed she was a person of faith, and it shined through all her actions. Until she could no longer do it, she read Scripture at many of the family devotionals at breakfast. She talked often about reading good books centered on faith. She went to church and Bible study. She put her faith into action by volunteering and then shopping at Helping Hands–a thrift shop that worked with the poor in Bentonville. She was extremely generous in giving, and she’d sure make sure you’d toe the line when it came to language and other such stuff.
It was quite the experience to sit in on a conversation regarding faith and life with her and Grandpa. Before you knew it, both of them were talking at the same time, and you really couldn’t keep up with the conversation. Both were trying to say something that was really important to them, and they would passionately work to get their points across. My head starts spinning just thinking about it. But it must of had an impact. Look where I am at and what I am doing today.
For the longest time, Grandma was my “measuring stick.” As the shortest of all my grandparents, it was she who I “measured” myself against to see if I had gotten taller. It was a really big deal when I finally exceeded her in height. Of course, I kept growing until I towered above her, but that was only physically. In many ways, I wonder if I can ever measure up to her spiritually and faith wise. She was and is a pillar of strength in this area, and her faith is now brought to perfection. She will be missed tremendously by many, but I take comfort that one day I will see her again.
Thank you Grandma for the many ways you touched my life.
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